Perfect match
by takitaka
Summary: It was hot and Poland suddenly decided they should talk. Netherlands/Poland


A/N For some reason or another I googled "perfect match" and I got something about Poles in Netherlands as a second result. I was amused and then this happened.

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><p>The air was hot and dry and Netherlands wouldn't go out into the heat of the sun even if they paid him. Okay, maybe if they paid him well enough—but then he'd still find someone else to bribe into going instead of him, willing to offer them just enough so he'd still be the one keeping the lion's share.<p>

Finding a suitable candidate really wouldn't be a problem. He had a perfect one within reach, sitting on the armchair just beside the couch he was occupying himself, in a horrible pink top and shorts that by all means should not fit any guy ever. His feet were bare and it was easy to guess he misplaced his flip-flops yet again, somewhere where he probably wouldn't find them for a while, or at least not until he bought himself another pair.

It was way too hot to smoke, but he still craved a cigarette.

Poland shifted and turned a page in a colorful magazine.

The air was hot, and dry, and perfectly still.

"Y'know, this article here totally says that we should like, talk."

Netherlands grunted and felt proud of himself for managing that much.

"Not talk casual talk, but talk feelings talk. Like, important stuff."

Poland's legs looked smooth. Netherlands glanced at the pack of the cigarettes on the table and wondered if he'd manage to reach it before it'd get kicked away.

"We don't talk too much bout that casual stuff though, so it's okay, I s'ppose."

"Hey." He squinted at a fly that landed on the table. "You want something to drink?"

"Gosh _yes_," Poland moaned and if it wasn't so deadly hot and I-am-not-going-to-move-more-muscles-than-it's-absolutely-necessary, Netherlands would smirk.

"Beer, fridge, lower shelf. There's some lemonade too. You can bring it."

Poland was at the door before he could even finish the last sentence.

He stretched, not really wondering since he didn't care enough, but—formed a question in his head, maybe—how was it possible that Lithuania couldn't make Poland do anything.

Then he realized he sent him to his kitchen and frowned.

But no; wait first, then call, then eventually threaten. Move only when it's absolutely unavoidable.

He cleared his throat for the future use and let his head fall back against the couch.

He must've dozed off because the next thing he knew something cold was being pressed to his cheek and he startled, blinking blearily up at Poland.

"Dude, you're all gross and sweaty."

He took the beer can and opened it, feeling like his movements were much slower than he meant them to be.

The fly was still sitting on the exact same spot.

Poland picked up his magazine and this time sat on the other end of the couch. Netherlands really, really hoped he didn't want to cuddle. It was awkward and uncomfortable enough in normal weather.

"So. How do you feel?"

The beer went down his throat, leaving in its path a blissfully cold, sobering-up feeling.

"Hot."

"Duh."

The answer sounded amused. Netherlands turned his head just in time to see Poland lick his upper lip. His nose was shiny with sweat.

"You don't have colorful umbrellas, y'know. That's like, such a horrid shame."

The cold drink fulfilled its purpose and he found in himself the strength to glare.

"Told you to not rummage through my stuff."

"I didn't!" Poland protested immediately. "Just looked round. Lemonade with a little umbrella thing would be rad. You should buy the umbrellas."

Netherlands made a mental note to never buy any umbrellas, unless suitably big to use as protection from rain. Not that he could see himself planning to buy them, but one could never be safe enough.

"_So_," Poland pressed, armed with this horrible magazine that Netherlands really had no idea how appeared in his house. "How do you—" He shifted in position, turning to the left and leaning his back against an arm rest. "—feel?" His legs flopped momentarily right on Netherlands' lap. The inside of his knees were sweaty, but when Ned put his hand on one of them he found out that they were as soft as they looked, and pleasantly firm, too.

He could see Poland's thighs that way, the ridiculous shorts riding up even higher.

"You first," he said at last, not pushing the legs from his lap. Poland grinned. He did that an awful lot.

"Nope, you gotta ask me your own question."

So he did. The words sounded ridiculous when put together that way. Especially the "with" and the "me", and he didn't even like the "why" questions anymore than the "how" ones.

"For your kitchen," was the immediate answer, as if the question was expected, maybe even anticipated.

His face was blank when he tried to take another sip of his beer only to realize that it was empty already. Poland looked too focused on him to suggest another trip to the fridge.

"Now you answer."

He held the legs on his lap down when he leaned forward to take a cigarette out of the pack with one hand.

Poland glared at him and he honestly didn't care. It wasn't as if Poland never smoked himself, after all.

When the cigarette was between his lips he reached again for a lighter. Poland wiggled his toes impatiently. They were painted in turns in pink and orange and it bothered him because he couldn't decide if he liked it or not.

Finally he lit the cigarette and threw the lighter back on the table. Leaned back, breathed in deeply and stared at the smoke after he exhaled.

It was too hot.

"I answered already," he said when Poland prodded him with his foot.

A frustrated sound was the only reply he got. Then, after a while—

"Fine. Answer your own question, then. It's your turn anyway."

Netherlands smiled around the cigarette, took it away.

"But you gotta ask me your own."

"Not anymore. The rules changed."

He turned his head and squinted more carefully at the magazine before Poland managed to tuck it away. It was one of his gardening ones.

Poland shrugged unapologetically and threw it away.

"What were you reading?"

"Something about garden lamps. And a horoscope. I'm supposed to like, face difficult challenges this week."

"And you raised up to it, huh?"

Poland nudged him with his foot again and froze when Netherlands caught it. He was ticklish.

"Oh come _on_."

Netherlands moved his hand to Poland's ankle and looked down. That fly had to be dead, seriously.

He put his cigarette back in his mouth to get another lungful because he didn't feel as hot when he felt cool.

"Why the hell not," he said finally.


End file.
